When someone asks how we are, we always give the same generic answer, “Fine, yeah. Good thanks. You?” We could have been crying in a ball on the bathroom floor five minutes ago, but for the purposes of a friendly response we are fine and always will be.
We understand that no one really wants to hear how we are. Even some of your best friends don’t really have the time to listen to how you’re really feeling. No one is expecting the ins and outs of our troubled tales, and to be perfectly honest who really wants to give them anyways?
In case you have been living under a rock, I was on holidays last week. We spent a beautiful week under the intense Greek sun in Rhodes. It was hotter than a holiday on the actual sun, which is great considering it is now November back home. The drinks were flowing, the pool was stunning and the views were on another level. I was in my favourite summer holiday resort, life was good.
Sounds like the perfect holiday right?
Since I’ve been home lots of people have asked how it was. They are met with the response, “Yes, amazing thanks. We had the best time.”
Which isn’t a lie, we did have the best time, it was amazing, but this wasn’t the whole truth.
We all know I live for holidays. I can’t stop thinking about my next trip and I truly believe the key to happiness and getting through life is always having a holiday booked. I’m always worked just to be able to afford holidays and my dream has always been to go somewhere every month, even if it’s just a night away.
That was until my shitty mental health decided to fuck me in the arse, and abandon me at the side of the road like last week’s hooker of the month.
It’s true what they say, that you can’t run away from your problems. I’ve tried. Those little fuckers will come with you, and they’ll probably bring unwanted friends along for the ride.
I had some other health issues going on when I was away, but it was fine, I could handle it. It wasn’t until the second or third night that I just really wanted to go home. I needed to be back in my safe bubble of my home. Surrounded by all my things, and not see or talk to anyone if I didn’t want to. I didn’t feel sad, I just didn’t really feel anything.
I usually don’t want to leave when I’m away, and the thought of coming home back to reality always scared the shit out of me. This time I couldn’t wait to be home.
I can imagine people reading this thinking how ungrateful I am. Trust me I felt that the whole time I was away, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. I was so grateful to be going away. We didn’t book it until two weeks before as we didn’t think a summer holiday was going to happen for us this year. Every day I would say out loud how thankful I was to be going to my favourite summer destination.
I was so excited. I could not wait to get there. Most people get anxiety going away but I never do. I thrive being on holidays. I’m my best self. I’m calm, relaxed and do things I would never do at home. Simple things, like actually going to get a drink myself. Which I still did on this holiday. I was still anxiety free, I just don’t know what changed this time.
I still enjoyed every single day. I still got up and did everything I would normally do. I wasn’t anxious the whole time I was away. I laughed, I smiled and it was all truly genuine. I was happy, but I was also feeling nothing a lot of the time.
My shitty mental health has taken away time with friends, dating (which I’m not mad about), going for a walk alone, and even popping to my local shop alone or with someone for that matter. Carol literally just asked me to walk over our small Tesco with her and I couldn’t do it today. Now, I’m scared my mental health is taking away my love for holidays too.
Sure, I could just not let it. But, how do I not let it make me feel a certain way? How do I not let it change me?
Since I’ve been back I’ve been trying to make sense of it. I usually have really bad post-holiday blues. I’m always that person who is straight on the internet looking to book the next holiday the day we come home. But not this time.
Whilst I’m glad I haven’t had any holiday blues, I would quite like to know what the actual fuck is going on. I’ve been going over and over it in my head, trying to work out what was different this time. Then I realised I don’t have to make sense of anything. I need to allow the feelings to come and go and just hope that this is just temporary.
I truly had a lovely time, and I’m glad I went, it was so beautiful and relaxing, especially after the crazy last few months with my Crohn’s diagnosis and the switching of my meds. If I knew how I would feel before, I would still go. Even writing this now, I’m like, so what the actual fuck happened to be feeling this way? Nothing, absolutely nothing. Your world can be perfect in that moment and you can still be struggling.
I guess, the takeaway from this post, is not to try and feel the need to fix everything. Some feelings are just meant to pass us by without reading too much into it. It also shows that when you struggle with your mental health you can be in the most perfect place in the entire world and you’re still struggling, and that’s okay. You’re not ungrateful, you’re not a shitty person. It really is okay not to be okay, wherever you are.
Also, don’t judge a book by its cover. Looking at my social media you wouldn’t think anything was wrong. That old chestnut of never knowing what someone is really going through screams so hard here.
Side note, if you’re sick of hearing about my mental health, I suggest you unfollow and all that jazz, as it’s a part of me and if me speaking about my struggles helps someone else with theirs, then I will never shut up. Never I tell ya.
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